


A Necessary Summoning

by thepopeisdope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean, Demon Castiel, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Top Castiel, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope
Summary: There’s a flash of light, a subtle thnik as the fabric of reality adjusts to a sudden, cosmic repositioning, and then when the smoke clears, Dean is there, regal as ever even in comparison to the gaudy, over-marbled house that serves as their backdrop.The angel blinks in surprise at his new surroundings. He waves a hand to clear away some of the smoke that wafts in front of his face, but otherwise stares at Castiel like a deer in headlights. “Castiel,” he says stiffly. “You… summoned me.”





	A Necessary Summoning

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, friends! I wrote this to fill a tumblr prompt, and since it got longer than I expected and I also absolutely adore it, it earned a cross-posting! Yay! 
> 
> The original prompt (from [this list](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/post/176772643395/prompt-list)) was the line, "I didn't know you could do that."
> 
> Tumblr post [here](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/post/178091181390/prompt-number-23). 
> 
> Enjoy!

When he wants to see Dean, typically, Castiel prays to him. It’s not as though Dean can refuse to hear him, after all; even demons know that prayer channels cannot be closed save for under the most extreme conditions. More often than not, a prayer to his favorite angel will suffice.

Now, though—now, Castiel has no patience for prayers. 

Once everything is in place, he strikes a match and throws it down into his summoning bowl. There’s a flash of light, a subtle  _ thnik _ as the fabric of reality adjusts to a sudden, cosmic repositioning, and then when the smoke clears, Dean is there, regal as ever even in comparison to the gaudy, over-marbled house that serves as their backdrop. 

The angel blinks in surprise at his new surroundings. He waves a hand to clear away some of the smoke that wafts in front of his face, but otherwise stares at Castiel like a deer in headlights. “Castiel,” he says stiffly. “You… summoned me.”

Castiel only inclines his head in answer. Dean’s lips pull into a frown, and he adds, clearly trying to goad the demon into actually discussing this, “I didn’t know you could do that.”

As far as goading goes, it works. One of Castiel’s eyebrows arches upwards. “You didn’t think I could complete a basic summoning?”

“No, that’s—” The angel’s cheeks dust pink beneath his freckles, and his wings, big and sleek and patterned through with black and white, shuffle against his back. “I didn’t think  _ demons _ could summon an angel. I thought… I mean…”

Once he grasps Dean’s meaning, Castiel’s expression melts into a smile. “Ah. You didn’t think that I could force you to face me, when what you truly want to be doing is avoiding me.”

Dean’s cheeks darken further with embarrassment. Even as he shifts nervously in place, however, eyes on anything and everything  _ except _ Castiel, he tries to dodge with, “That’s not what I meant.”

“So you aren’t denying that you’re avoiding me.”

Dean’s gaze immediately snaps to meet Castiel’s. His lips part, likely with an objection, but they close again without any words making it past them. His wings continue to move, kinetic nervousness making them twitch while the feathers near the appendages’ upper arches fluff outward.

There’s a lengthy pause before Dean finally finds the words. “I’m not avoiding you.” 

Castiel purses his lips, acting, for a brief moment, as if that is a claim he could believe. “I see. So I just haven’t seen you in two weeks because..?” 

The angel’s throat bobs when he swallows. “Been busy.” 

“Of course.” Castiel settles back onto his heels, hands sliding casually into the pockets of his worn, black jeans. “And I’m guessing you’re expecting me to believe that it’s purely coincidence that this  _ busy _ spurt of yours began immediately after our last encounter? Which you left rather quickly, as you might recall.” 

“That’s not—I mean, I wasn’t trying to—” Dean gulps, then takes a few rapid steps backwards, putting what space he can between himself and Castiel. His wings twitch again, the movement sharper than any of the previous, unconscious gestures of anxiety, and Castiel sees it for what it is in an instant. He responds just as quickly, acting without hesitation. 

The match is drawn from his pocket, lit, and thrown down to the holy oil lying in wait in a single, fluid movement. The oil nearest his boot catches immediately, and flames race around the room to encircle its inhabitants. Dean jumps at the sight of it, scurrying toward the center of the ring and pulling his wings in close to his spine. The holy fire makes for an unforgiving boundary, and the black-tipped ends of his wings are all too vulnerable to it, as they both know.

It doesn’t take Dean long to grasp his new situation. Once he has calmed his initial, fearful reaction to the flames, he turns on Castiel with a glare, a fire of his own lighting his eyes more than the reflected holy fire ever could. 

“Extinguish it,” he says. His voice is low, dangerous—yet even still, Castiel sees through the display. “Now, Cas. This isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t  _ meant _ to be funny,” the demon counters. Despite his words, though, the corners of his mouth curl upwards. He makes a vague gesture toward the flames pressing in at all sides, scorching into the living room’s pristine, white carpet. “It’s meant to keep you from running from your problems, as you’re so want to do.” 

Dean scowls at him. “I don’t run from my problems,” he snaps. “I’m here talking to you, aren’t I? Put out the flames. I’m not joking.” 

Castiel barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You were going to run, don’t act like you weren’t. And I had to summon you here to make you speak to me. Don’t play dumb, Dean, it doesn’t suit you.” 

Dean’s wings curl ever so slightly around his shoulders, a clear show of embarrassment. His glare doesn’t fade and he doesn’t say anything, but that second detail is more than enough of an answer to satisfy Castiel. The demon lets himself relax and, after a moment of contemplation, steps in close to the angel he has captured. 

“Dean.” Green eyes meet blue, glowing with power and firelight alike. “Why are you avoiding me? After all the years we have been friends, you owe me this explanation.”

The angel winces, and his gaze drops away. He’s quiet for a long moment, so long that Castiel starts to think he isn’t going to get an answer, but then he sighs and grits out, “You know why, Cas.” 

Castiel frowns. “I don’t, actually. You were awfully enthusiastic when we—”

“I know, I know,” Dean is quick to interrupt, “but that’s the problem, okay? We can’t—Angels and demons, Cas, we don’t mix. We can’t be like that. You know damn well we can’t.” 

“We can’t,” Castiel repeats slowly, testing the words on his tongue. He can’t say he likes them. His frown deepens. “We can’t what, fuck? If that is what you believe, Dean, then I hate to tell you, but we are hardly the first of either of our kinds to—”

“ _ No _ , Cas,” Dean interrupts yet again. He looks uncomfortable, red-faced and twitchy, but the mannerisms aren’t coming through in quite the same way they had when the angel first appeared. There’s more to it, now. It’s not just embarrassment. It’s… 

Dean presses his lips together for a moment, his eyes fixed firmly on the fire beside them. Then, so softly Castiel nearly misses it beneath the crackling of the flames, “We can’t be  _ together _ .” 

The look on his face is unmistakably one of pain.

Oh. 

_ Oh _ . 

Something in Castiel’s chest constricts, something he thought he forgot how to feel long ago, and somehow that  _ isn’t _ the most earth-shattering revelation of the hour. 

Dean’s wings curl further around his shoulders, like he is expecting to be laughed at for the confession he has made. But while Castiel  _ is _ surprised, it isn’t for the reasons that Dean is clearly thinking. 

The demon takes a half step closer and, when the angel doesn’t object, raises a hand to cup Dean’s jaw. He makes sure that Dean is looking at him again before he asks, oh so carefully, “And who says that we can’t?” 

Dean blinks, his jaw going slack. “What?” 

“I said,” Castiel patiently repeats, “who says we can’t? If we want to do more than fuck, let them try to stop us. It’s no one’s business but our own.” 

“You—” Dean sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t pull away from Castiel’s touch. “Is that really what you’re going with, here?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Dean wets his lips. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Castiel isn’t entirely distracted by the brief flash of his tongue. “Saying that it’s no one else’s business makes it sound an awful lot like you’d…” 

He tries to trail off, leave the sentence in the air for Castiel to freely interpret, but the demon isn’t having it. He raises an eyebrow, a wordless cue for him to continue. 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut before he complies and finishes, “Like you’d actually be with me. More than fucking.” 

It’s just about what Castiel had expected his angel to say, given the context of their conversation, but actually hearing it still makes his chest do that  _ thing _ again, emotion gripping his functionless heart. 

He thinks back to the last time he was with Dean, when the two of them had fallen into the sheets of a bed in a meaningless motel in a meaningless human town. They’d been tangled together from start to finish, Dean’s wings wide and wild, his hands tugging desperately at Castiel’s horns in a bid for leverage as he rode the demon into oblivion. 

From what Castiel recalls of what led up to their coupling, however, he would have thought they were on the same page. They hunted down a rabid werewolf together, saving a nearby human population, got drinks afterwards at a nearby bar, and when their lips touched for the first time, it had felt electric. It had felt  _ right _ . Like a fitting progression to their already illicit relationship, their unlikely-friends dynamic. 

The fact that Dean is in such clear disbelief of Castiel’s willingness to be with him, then, is more than mildly baffling. 

There are plenty of ways that Castiel could address this disparity and set Dean right. He can say a blunt,  _ I would _ , and have them where they need to be just like that. He suspects that’s how he  _ should _ handle it, in fact. 

But the white-hot mess of emotion in his chest is a traitorous thing, and the way he ultimately says it is, “I would do anything with you, if you were to ask it of me.” 

Dean’s eyes go almost comically wide. For the span of a few moments, he doesn’t even seem to breathe. Then—“Do you mean that? Even if it means that the rest of Heaven and Hell aren’t going to want anything to do with us?”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Castiel can’t help but snort at that. It helps, at least, to get him past the suffocating thickness otherwise clogging his throat. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? What makes you think I give a damn what Heaven or Hell think? They can’t touch me. Can’t touch  _ us _ .” 

Dean’s next exhale stutters on its way out of his chest. He moves in closer to Castiel, lays cautious hands on his hips, and turns his face into the palm still holding it so tenderly. Castiel raises his other hand to join it, his heart just about filled to bursting as he smooths his thumbs across his angel’s cheekbones. 

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way that I do about this,” Dean admits. His wings, no longer curled in embarrassment around his shoulders, inch incrementally closer to Castiel like they’re eager to cocoon around them both. “Cas, are you—”

“Dean, so help me god, if you ask if I’m sure, I might just let this house burn to the ground around us.” 

The threat puts a smile on Dean’s lips, but it also serves to remind him of their surroundings. He glances toward the holy fire like he’s genuinely surprised to see that it’s still burning. His fingers flex around Castiel’s hips. 

“Might be a good idea to put that out,” the angel muses, much less distressed by the knee-high flames than he had been when Castiel first ignited it. He must take his first look at their surroundings beyond the fire, too, because he asks next, “Whose house is this?” 

Castiel lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “The owners don’t need it right now, and that is what matters. I chose it for its space and privacy. And also, of course…” He slips one of his hands back into Dean’s hair, and leans in to press teasing, feather-light kisses over the angel’s jaw. “There are several beds for us to choose from. If you’ll stay here with me for a bit longer, that is.” 

Dean lets out a breathy moan, then surges forward to catch Castiel’s lips with his own. When they part again, he’s quick to nod his agreement. “Yeah.  _ Fuck yeah _ , Cas. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last time, you’re so damn  _ hot _ , do you have any idea how bad I want you?” 

It’s Castiel’s turn to groan, then. The thought of Dean wanting him to any sort of extreme degree,  _ his _ Dean—

Castiel returns his mouth to his angel’s and sets about devouring him, intent on tasting every inch of him. He pets heavily over the base of Dean’s wings with the hand that isn’t tangled in the angel’s hair, and when it earns him a high-pitched whine and a set of hips stuttering against his own, he knows he doesn’t have much time to waste. He extinguishes the holy fire with a snap of his fingers, then grips Dean’s thighs to haul him up into his arms, legs wrapping tight around the demon’s waist. 

Although Castiel is mildly tempted to abandon the idea of finding a bed and simply fuck Dean right there on the plush carpet, or even on one of the couches that sits up against the wall, but he resists the urge for one, primary reason. 

He wants to do this  _ right _ . 

Even though he had taken a tour of the house before he summoned Dean, Castiel still struggles to find his way to a bedroom—though of course, that’s not for lack of trying. The fact that Dean is biting and sucking at his neck is simply incredibly distracting. Welcome, but distracting. 

Still, with the help of Castiel’s power and maybe also some of Dean’s grace, they find their way to a bed eventually. It’s a bit of a blur right up until Castiel throws Dean down onto an expanse of white sheets and crawls up over him, when the world abruptly falls back into sharp relief. The black lines that swoop across Dean’s wings, encapsulating both the upper arches and the flight feathers which make up the lower fringe, create a mesmerizing contrast against the duvet. Castiel’s hands ache with the desire to dig into them, and this time, he doesn’t deny himself what he wants. 

His fingers slot so incredibly easily into Dean’s feathers, and the angel keens in response, wings thrashing against the bed. His grace pulses, lighting in his eyes and momentarily turning them to a blinding gold before they fade back to their typical, heavenly green. It brightens the form of the angel behind Dean’s human skin, and serves to remind Castiel of just how beautiful his angel is. 

And just how incredibly lucky he is to get to call him  _ his _ . 

The pressure in his chest swells once again, but instead of letting it throw him off, he crashes his mouth back into Dean’s and pours out everything he feels through the kiss. There’s adoration and appreciation and desire and lo—

He cuts off his train of thought there, and quickly sits up in his perch over Dean’s lap to whip his shirt off over his head. The cotton catches on the sharp, bone-white tips of his horns and tears in his haste, but it was still faster than unbuttoning it, so he can’t say he cares. Dean, though, grins up at him, his eyes now bright with amusement instead of grace. 

“I think I can make this a bit easier, babe,” the angel says. He reaches up to drag his palm down Castiel’s abdomen, stroking reverently over his warm skin. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, Dean’s grace washes out through his fingertips and passes over them both. When it clears, both of them are gloriously bare, clothes gone to somewhere they no longer matter. 

Castiel’s lips pull up into a sharp, predatory grin. “Much better. Thank you, sweetheart.” 

And Castiel, never one to miss an opportunity when it is presented to him, takes full advantage of their mutual nudity and gets right to work. He rolls his hips down once, grinding his erection into Dean’s, then moves back to settle between Dean’s thighs instead of on top of them. Dean’s wings fall open wider while his legs do the same, both gestures inviting Castiel closer. 

Castiel falls into it like he was made to do nothing else. With the way that Dean embraces him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, Castiel is very nearly convinced that that is truly the case. 

They rock together without too much of a goal, enjoying the friction between them and trading tender kisses. Overall, Castiel mostly loves that he gets to be this close to Dean; he loves the softness of the angel’s skin beneath his own, loves the freckles scattered across him, loves the soft sounds of pleasure which fall past his lips. He hadn’t had the chance to catalogue it quite so well during their first time together, rushed as it had been, so he’ll be damned—again—before he misses the opportunity to set that right. 

But while Castiel is willing to take his time and savor Dean, his angel’s need clearly outweighs his patience. It’s only a short time later when Dean presses a packet of lube into Castiel’s hand, and the unspoken request which accompanies the gesture is crystal clear. 

Perhaps Castiel will save his savoring for next time. 

He accepts the packet of lube with a smug grin, eyes flicking to black almost of their own accord as he tears it open with his teeth and squeezes the contents onto his fingers. 

Maybe it’s the promise of the lube or maybe it’s the flash of Castiel’s black eyes, but something about the moment  _ gets _ to Dean, because his back arches off the sheets and his eyes flutter shut, a moan falling from his lips. The reaction is so entrancing that Castiel stops and stares, utterly enraptured. His eyes are caught on black, now, and he can’t even make himself care.

When Dean catches him staring, the flush on his cheeks deepens. “You’re hot as fuck, okay? Sue me.” He grabs for Castiel’s shoulders, sweeps him closer with the ends of his wings, and cants his hips upwards. “Now are you gonna get on with it, or am I going to have to do all the work myself, here?”

Between one blink and the next, Castiel’s eyes return to their typical shade of blue. “I’ve got you, sweet thing, don’t you worry. I’ll take care of you.” 

Dean graces him with a wide, warm smile, making it clear that he believes the statement entirely. 

And Castiel, of course, eagerly follows through. 

He stretches Dean open as quickly as he dares, his previous patience little more than a memory now that his angel is goading him. Dean presses hot, messy kisses to every bit of Castiel’s skin he can reach while the demon works, and grips him by his horns to tug him nearer when necessary. Castiel adores the casual manhandling, and only drives his fingers more firmly into Dean each time it happens. Of course, that only serves to make Dean pull on his horns more, the handhold becoming more and more necessary as he writhes, which then spins Castiel up until he’s fingering Dean with intent, rubbing mercilessly over his prostate.

It’s a wonderful cycle for them to be falling into, until all at once, both of them realize that they need  _ more _ . 

“Cas, I need—”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

Castiel withdraws his fingers from Dean at the same time that Dean wraps his legs around the demon’s waist. Castiel’s cock is oh so close to where he wants it to be, and he aches to thrust his hips forward and sink into Dean, but first… 

First, Castiel slides a hand around Dean’s back and reaches up to palm at the base of the angel’s wings. They may have only slept together the once, but Castiel isn’t a fool. He knows how to make an angel squirm. 

Sure enough, as soon as Castiel locates the small glands hidden in the downy feathers near Dean’s spine, his angel  _ keens _ . 

And that is when Castiel takes the opportunity to push forward and slide into him. Dean cries out, a burst of grace rippling out through his fingers and sinking right into the core of Castiel’s fingers. The demon groans at the feeling of it, hips jerking forward before he means for them to do so. He stifles himself by pressing his teeth against Dean’s throat, a silent, teasing threat. He’s tempted to follow through with it, too, to leave Dean marked up and undeniably  _ his _ , but, well. 

If and when he marks Dean as his own, he’s going to do so in ways that are much more lasting than easily-healed bite marks. And he’s definitely going to use methods which reach deeper than what human eyes can perceive, anyway.

He mentally adds that to his list of things to do  _ next time _ , and for the time being, puts his focus toward fucking Dean with everything he has. 

Giving himself over to Dean is, unsurprisingly, a remarkably easy thing to do. 

Every thrust of his hips punches some sort of sound out of Dean, be it a moan or a gasp or a string of broken Enochian or, as is Castiel’s favorite, a cry of the demon’s name that is nothing short of reverent. If any other angel were to hear it, he is sure they would call it blasphemy. 

Though of course, no other demon would approve of Castiel’s blatant and all-encompassing worshipping of an angel, but when it comes to  _ this _ angel, he doesn’t care in the slightest. Every sweet prayer which falls from his lips in Dean’s name is one that is deserved,  _ earned _ . 

Because he is Dean’s and Dean’s alone, and he is determined to prove it. 

Let Heaven and Hell scorn each of them. It’s what they’re agreeing to put up with, in doing this. They can handle it. 

Dean curls his fingers through Castiel’s hair in a gesture that is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the merciless thrusting of Castiel’s hips and the slapping of skin against skin which fills the bedroom. The gentleness of it makes Castiel’s rhythm falter; instead of facing the way it makes him feel, however, he drops his face to press his forehead against Dean’s neck. He earns himself a breathless chuckle as a result. 

“So adorable,” he says into Castiel’s hair. He rolls his hips and tightens his muscles around Castiel’s cock, intentionally drawing another moan out of the demon. “So  _ good _ , Cas. Love you. Love you so  _ much _ —”

The use of that single, specific word utterly destroys Castiel. He makes an inhuman sound and presses himself further into Dean’s neck, now soaking in his proximity while he redoubles his efforts in fucking Dean through the mattress. He’s so close to the peak of his pleasure, and from the way Dean’s grace ripples and radiates from his skin, he knows the angel is, too. 

And since Castiel knows he won’t last much longer, he makes every effort to ensure that Dean does not, either. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to work too hard at it. All it takes is a few more thrusts of his hips, a firm hand in Dean’s feathers, and a messy kiss to have Dean going tense beneath him, his grace flashing through his eyes as his cock empties between them, untouched. He babbles out praise in Enochian as he comes, Castiel’s name mixed in among it, and the demon falls right over the edge after him. 

His hips still as he comes inside of Dean, his eyes once again turning to black as his hold on his power slips. Dean’s eyes are still bright and golden and so very close to Castiel’s own as they breathe each other’s air, each of them caught in the electricity of the moment. 

Then the moment ends and the two of them slump together, all outward signs of their powers fading back away. Castiel is sure he’s a heavy weight between Dean’s legs, and he knows he’s going to have to pull out of him sooner or later, but his angel doesn’t object. In fact, Dean wraps him up in his arms and wings, ensuring that they remain pressed together while their heated bodies begin to cool. That pressure is back in Castiel’s chest, choking him up and making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. It’s still confusing, and not something he ever would have expected to have to deal with, but at least now—now it’s finally easy for him to attach a label to it. 

He presses his lips against the underside of Dean’s jaw, then lets that bottled up emotion crack open and escape. 

“I love you, too,” he says, and it’s as easy as that. Demons aren’t meant to love, but Castiel knows that that is what he feels, so there is no point in denying it. No point in  _ hiding _ it. 

Beneath him, Dean lets out a shuddering breath. His angel holds him just a little bit tighter, fingers wrapping around one of his horns. “Good. That’s, um—” Dean clears his throat. “No take-backs.”

There certainly aren’t; once word of their relationship gets out, they’re only going to have each other left. They’ll be together, but not without sacrifice. 

It’ll be worth it. 

Castiel holds tight to the love that he feels and answers easily, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
